


let your body be the velvet of the night

by ackermom



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vampire Bertolt Hoover, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: He says, "I always want you," so low that he knows Reiner cannot hear, but he moves his lips in time with the music, just as their hands touch across the champagne glass, and Reiner's eyes glint in that delightful way they do when he understands exactly what Bertholdt means.Take me, his eyes say. If you need me, have me.
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	let your body be the velvet of the night

**Author's Note:**

> a better love story than twilight. title is from andante, andante by abba.

He comes late to the party, as usual. Fashionable or not is another question, and one that, after so many years, Bertholdt is no longer inclined to answer. He arrives after midnight, when the gravel walk to the front door has already collected its quota of cigarette butts. The front hall is empty; but the party echoes through the corridors, like a distant recording of another time, another place. He settles for the doorway of the ballroom. He takes a drink in his hand, something cold and sparkling. He won't drink it, but that's not why he's here. 

A waxing moon looms overhead, full of laughter, full of light, and the party has spilled onto the lawn. The doors of the ballroom are flung open. Conversations carry onto the patio, tripping onto the grass and down to the lawn, to where lovers traverse at the edge of the lake, their reflections dancing like shadows on the silver surface of the water. The night air blows a chill through the open doors, but the dancers don't seem to mind. The fireplaces are lit, the chandeliers glittering overhead; the room is dizzy with the warmth of bodies twirling together, dancing closer as cocktails go down the drain, the band in a frenzy with sweat dripping down their arms. The party intoxicates. Silks and velvets of jewel tones, of deep bloody purples and blacks, spinning and weaving across the dance floor, between the candles, beneath the lights. Heels on the marble floor, and a posse smoking by an open window, empty bottles of wine sitting still at their feet.

Bertholdt watches them. 

The girls share a cigarette. The young soldier between them lounges against the windowsill. He leans back with a glass in his hand, easy to the common eye. He shakes his head when the cigarette is offered, but he takes it anyway, a tiny smoke between his fingers. He is going to hit it until a cold wind stirs from the window. Then he looks up, his gaze flicking studiously across the ballroom, and Bertholdt finds himself the target of attention.

From across the dance floor, his gaze is a comfort. It all comes rushing to Bertholdt when the wind blows away, and he ducks his head to the side, closing his eyes. He steps back into the shadow of the doorway until he can barely be seen. He waits there, longer than expected, until the soldier saunters over, a subtle smile picking at the corners of his lips. He bounces around the ballroom first, looking everywhere but the shadows, before he finally visits Bertholdt.

He leans one arm against the door frame with his back to the party. He gazes into the darkness.

"If I ask nicely," he mutters like a flirt, "will you dance with me?"

Bertholdt can smell the smoke on him. He wills it away and picks up the more familiar tones. His clean cologne, his uniform, pressed and starched. The lashes of mud on his boots from the back garden. The sweat on his skin, the saliva on his lips.

"You're popular tonight," is all Bertholdt says.

"Tonight," the young soldier echoes. He stands too close, his free hand twirling a wine glass, half-empty red, deep and bloody on the back of his throat. His lips part easily, a smile in the candlelight, and Bertholdt can taste it on him.

Reiner cocks his head. His chin down, shadows climbing up the recesses of his face, and his smile thins out into something sardonic. Cheek.

"Just tonight?" he ponders. 

He's right. He fills out his uniform, the navy jacket pulling over his chest and shoulders in taut lines and sharp curves. He'll need a shave soon, and a haircut. Blond waves are beginning to grow from his roots, and if someone doesn't take a pair of scissors to those locks soon, he'll look a right scoundrel. But it's all the better for his sex appeal— handsome, strapping soldier a few months off the front. All smiles and charms with something brooding underneath. Sometimes Bertholdt thinks he'd kill to take this take on the floor in front of everyone and feed until they swam in his blood, but sometimes, now in the shadowy edge of the ballroom, he thinks he'd just like to run his hand through that blond hair. Just once, in front of all the girls and their martinis.

Bertholdt gives him a tight-lipped smile. "Always."

Reiner's gaze dips the glass in his hand. Champagne, thin, sparkling, and all too sweet, but not that it matters either way. He lets Reiner take it from him. Their fingers hardly touch. But all at once, Bertholdt is cold, and all the air in the room seems to run through him, leaving him like a ghost lingering in the doorway. Reiner tips the champagne glass to his lips and swallows. He meets Bertholdt's eyes. Bright against the shadow of the darkness.

"You want me," Reiner breathes, the champagne alive on his lips. 

He speaks low, in tones that could not be overheard. But he's still standing much too close, and Bertholdt hasn't stepped back, couldn't do it for the life, or lack thereof, within him. He is just an arm's reach away, bleeding dangerously close to Bertholdt's lips. His heartbeat picks up the longer Bertholdt watches him. It leaps when Bertholdt takes the champagne back.

He says, "I always want you," so low that he knows Reiner cannot hear, but he moves his lips in time with the music, just as their hands touch across the champagne glass, and Reiner's eyes glint in that delightful way they do when he understands exactly what Bertholdt means.

Take me, his eyes say. If you need me, have me.

"Not here," Bertholdt says.

"I want you to," Reiner tells him. The red wine has left velvet on his tongue, and Bertholdt wants to taste it.

"Not here," he repeats, before he retreats into the darkness.

The house creeps with secrets. The party is loud in the ballroom, but there is an affair in the corridor, a moonlit tryst in the garden; whispers in dark corners, and empty bottles of wine on the steps of the grand staircase, someone somewhere disappeared, around a corner of through a hidden door, beneath rugs, behind tapestries. Bertholdt leads down the dark hall, swift and silent.

The soldier's footsteps follow lightly, just a touch on every creaking floorboard, but heavy in Bertholdt's mind. He can feel him, the weight of his body, his blood, his heart beating in his chest. The way he smiles like a devil when Bertholdt stops on the landing outside the guest room where he's staying, his hand around the golden knob, where he can feel Reiner's fingerprints, smell him from outside. His dark eyes follow as Reiner comes up the last of the grand steps. He tips the last of the wine over his head, his back arching, his neck exposed over the collar of his jacket, before Bertholdt lets them in and the door shuts behind them without a noise.

Bertholdt leaves his champagne glass on the armoire by the door. It is barely out of his fingers before Reiner takes it, the wine glass replacing it. He drinks, but he does not swallow; the flat glass dances in his fingers, the moonlight through the drawn window shining into the crystal. His boot presses between Bertholdt's toes, and then he is on Bertholdt, pushing his back to the door, one arm slipping around his shoulder, and he is smiling with lips pursed together, because when he leans forward and takes Bertholdt finally, pulling him into a kiss with that scent like a tease, he looses the champagne between their mouths, and Bertholdt swallows hungrily. Not for the champagne, not the bubbles, but for the taste of him, the places he's been and the stories he has to tell, the taste of his tongue and his spit and how he'll sleep tonight after Bertholdt is done with him. Bright like the sparkling wine, rich like the blood he'll let Bertholdt drink from him. 

Reiner breathes through the last of the champagne, like fire on Bertholdt's skin. He kisses the corner of Bertholdt's mouth, leaning on him, arm around his neck, the crystal glass dangling in one of his hands.

"You've been gone," he whispers. His kiss trails away, down Bertholdt's jaw to the tender flesh of his ear.

He wraps one arm around Reiner's waist, fingers slipping under the leather belt of his uniform. He takes him in at last, his scent, his taste. The drumming of his heartbeat against Bertholdt's chest. Bertholdt breathes it all in, eyes closed.

"I've been away," he murmurs.

"I missed you."

He takes the champagne glass and tosses it onto the bed, smiles when it hits the floor instead and he feels Reiner laugh against the skin behind his ear.

"Tell me you want me," Reiner whispers in his ear.

"You know I do."

"I want to hear you say it."

Bertholdt pulls one hand up the side of his face, turning his cheek until their lips meet, and he whispers, "I want you," on Reiner's lips, something rushing through him when they kiss, something deep and uncontrollable, not for much longer. His hands clench when he pulls on Reiner, his waist, his jacket, dragging his hands over warm skin and life, pulling him closer until they're flush together, their lips melting over each other. 

Reiner turns away first. He leads Bertholdt inside, turning the lock on the door behind them; he takes Bertholdt by the hand walks him to the bed, drenched in streaks of moonlight spilling through the window on the far wall, heavy curtains drawn to let the light in. He pulls Bertholdt down beside him, and he is entirely too sweet with the moonlight in his eyes, his gentle gaze smiling as he pushes a tender hand through Bertholdt's hand, gazing at him with such care.

"You shouldn't go so long between feeds," he says softly. "You know where to find me."

Bertholdt kisses the hand that strokes his cheek. "I was away. I had business."

"I want to hear about it."

"I'll tell you everything."

"Later," Reiner whispers. He lets Bertholdt's hand wander up his cheek, and down again, across his jaw and over his neck, cold skin on his tender flesh. He rubs Bertholdt's shoulder. "You need me."

"Only if you want me to," Bertholdt murmurs.

"I want you," Reiner promises. "Always."

He is like sunlight, golden even underneath the silver moon. The light lays in white rays across his face, and he is soft, smiling tenderly as Bertholdt strokes his cheek, one of his fingers straying to brush over the skin of Reiner's neck. His eyes are filled with love when Bertholdt leans in to kiss him again, gentle but earnest. He can feel everything in Reiner: the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs. The way he arches up to meet Bertholdt, the gentle hands he presses on Bertholdt's chest. The silence he hums on Bertholdt's lips, drawing him closer, carrying him down onto the bed, where Bertholdt lays over him, their legs draping together. 

He kisses Reiner again. Something harder, a little more desperate. It has been a while since he last fed, but he was holding out for this. He would starve himself every time if he knew he could have Reiner at the end of it.

Reiner kisses him, his hand warm on Bertholdt's face, drawing up his neck to cup his cheek, fingers tingling over Bertholdt's cold skin, then back down, hands pressing across his shoulders, pushing him to pull him in, holding him close and asking him without words. _I want you to_ , he says with silence, and though Bertholdt wants to be gentle with him, never break that tender skin, never make him bleed, he knows too that Reiner's words are true, that he wants Bertholdt on his neck, taking what he needs and what Reiner can give him.

"Shh," Reiner breathes on his lips. "You're thinking too much."

Bertholdt crooks his hand on the nape of Reiner's neck and draws him up, pressing his lips to the corner of Reiner's mouth as he arches in Bertholdt's hands, one leg rising against his hips. 

"I'm thinking about you," he murmurs back. "How much I want you."

Fingernails tighten on his shoulder. Reiner kisses him harder, bringing their bodies as close as possible. He rubs against Bertholdt, a leg hooking over his knee; Bertholdt holds onto him, one hand on the back of Reiner's thigh, as his lips trail downward and the urgency rises within him. It'll be best when they're both distracted, the frenzy of sex running through them. He feels Reiner's heartbeat pick up as he peppers kisses across his bare skin, and one of Reiner's hands creeps down between their bodies. It fumbles at the button of his trousers, where he rubs against Bertholdt.

"Do you like this?" Bertholdt breathes in his ear.

The soft moan that escapes Reiner sends a bloodlust coursing through Bertholdt. He can't help but groan, gritting his teeth as he clutches onto Reiner and writhes against his body. The scent of blood overwhelms him. Reiner is so close, and his flesh so tender; he is all over Bertholdt, with hands and legs and the smell inside of him, and he strokes one hand through Bertholdt's hair, bringing him back from the brink with a gasp.

Bertholdt tucks his nose under Reiner's ear and takes in his scent again; controlled this time, as Reiner strokes a finger through his hair. He smells sweet, like the champagne he drank from Bertholdt's grass. Woodsy, like he's been outside today, with mud on his boots and wind in his hair. Like sex, like sweat in silk bedsheets, as he shifts his cock out of his pants and into his hand, pressed against Bertholdt's black satin shirt.

He presses his lips to the skin of Reiner's neck. He marks the spot where'll he feed, drawing his tongue over it, writhing out a moan from Reiner, whose hand clenches in Bertholdt's hair. He sucks on the tender skin there, quickly turning pink under his lips, as the desire grows inside of him. It's coming. He digs his hand into the back of Reiner's thigh.

"Take me," Reiner begs.

And Bertholdt does. 

Lust rages through him. He sinks his fingers into Reiner's neck. Soft skin. Easy to pierce, warm and full of blood. The first taste is so good, and once he starts drinking, he can't stop. Reiner moans. He bleeds for Bertholdt, but he doesn't cry out. He doesn't scream. He moans, one hand in Bertholdt's hair, the other on his cock. He mutters Bertholdt's name.

Bertholdt drinks from him. Deeply, at first, so much hungrier than he knew. A ravenous starvation arising in him now that he has the taste of blood, something he'd put out of his mind until he laid eyes on Reiner tonight, until he smelled him from across the ballroom and tasted the champagne on his lips. Reiner whispers in his ear. He presses his body against Bertholdt, and he writhes under the touch of Bertholdt's hand digging into his thigh. Even through their clothes, their skins are on fire, rushing against each other. Bertholdt will undress him later, lick his wounds clean and bathe him, but right now, he is hungry.

Reiner's hand shifts between their bodies. He's hard against Bertholdt's stomach, and he pumps his cock as Bertholdt drinks from him, eats into him, the skin around his wound turning pink, then purple. His breaths grow quieter as Bertholdt slows. Suddenly less ravenous, suddenly a little fuller, he feels as if he can control himself again; he eases his fangs out and licks the blood clean from Reiner's neck. He'll be bruised for days, but his uniform will hide it well. 

He turns his face to Reiner, whose eyes are screwed shut as he touches himself. Bertholdt presses a gentle kiss to his jawline. The blood his lips leave behind is wiped away with his thumb.

"You're alright?" he whispers, asking Reiner as he tends to the two holes on his neck. Two tiny streams of blood leaking onto the bedsheets, an intoxicating river that Bertholdt licks gently.

Reiner hums, one hand on the back of Bertholdt's neck. His fingers brush through the short hair, playing idly as he lies back and lets Bertholdt lap at the bleeding wound.

"Fine," Reiner murmurs. "You don't have to stop."

Between their bodies, Bertholdt feels the hand on Reiner's cock slow to a steadier rhythm, something softer and gentler as the silver moonlight drifts over the lovers in bed. He presses a tender, bloody kiss to the skin just beneath Reiner's ear. 

"I want it to be good for you too," he says. "It's better for you if we take our time."

Reiner's eyes flutter open. He smiles at Bertholdt, the hand on the back of his neck slipping around to cup his cheek. "You were hungry."

"I've been waiting a long time to taste you again."

"You can keep going," Reiner whispers. He brushes his thumb over Bertholdt's lips. It comes away with blood, his blood, and he presses the stained fingerprint to his own lips. He gives it a kiss. "I'm fine."

He arches up, both of his hands grasping Bertholdt's face, and presses their lips together in a firm kiss. Desire rushes through Bertholdt. He kisses Reiner hard. The blood from his neck has stained the sheets, and Bertholdt kisses his way there, to the open wound, where he gives it a tender tongue before he drinks again. Reiner murmurs at his touch, a few of his fingers lingering in Bertholdt's hair; his other hand slips between their bodies again, taking his cock back into his palm as Bertholdt drinks from him.

He goes slower, matching the pace of Reiner's fist between their bodies. Bertholdt drinks idly, like breaking the surface of the water to gasp for air before returning to what lies beneath. He sucks on the skin, turning pink, red under his lips, and he kisses a trail of blood down Reiner's neck, unbuttoning his jacket as he goes; across his collarbones and up his Adam's apple, a path of bloody butterfly kisses left in his wake. 

His fingers work down the buttons of Reiner's uniform, and then he is slipping it from Reiner's shoulders, hungry lips still breathing against his neck as he whispers an order to _take it off_ , and he feels Reiner laughing against him, kissing Bertholdt's ears as he takes his time getting undressed, a tease. Reiner slips the jacket from one arm, curling his hand over Bertholdt's neck to bring him closer, to draw him into another deep kiss, one that sends heat through Bertholdt's cold body, his fingers digging into Reiner's skin, clawing at him. Reiner groans against him, and lust courses through him; he swings Reiner around, pulls him into his lap, sitting upright so Reiner's neck bleeds down onto his chest in shiny red rivers. Bertholdt kisses him, arching up to meet his lips. Reiner mutters something against him— not words, but love, a soft moan as Bertholdt clutches onto him, arms firmly wrapped around his waist, as Bertholdt turns his lips up to drink from him again, sinking his fangs deeper with each bite.

Reiner slips the jacket from his body, and his bloodied shirt comes undone after that. He writhes in Bertholdt's lap, knees splayed on either side of his hips, his cock hard in his hand, his hair mussed, the moonlight falling in deep strokes over his bare skin as Bertholdt drinks from him. One of his hands clenches in dark hair. He arches up, his head falling back, and he moans. His breaths grow heavier. Bertholdt drinks deeper, taking everything that Reiner will give him, everything that Reiner is. 

Frenzy courses through Bertholdt— bloodlust, desire, and he digs his nails into Reiner's back as he releases his fangs, groaning, unable to stop himself, something deep moaning inside of him, pulsing in his stomach as he clenches at Reiner, as Reiner's hand works furiously on his cock, as Bertholdt's cold fingers join him. Reiner cries out; his head falls forward against Bertholdt's forehead, and he comes through Bertholdt's fingers, his chest heaving, lines of blood still seeping down his skin. 

In the moonlight, everything grows soft. The room is quiet once more, just the sound of Reiner's breaths into the darkness as they hold each other. Then Reiner collapses into his arms, something soft murmured from his lips. He falls into Bertholdt, suddenly weak in the limbs, sleep drawing over him after the frenzy. Bertholdt catches him. They fall back against the bed, and Reiner rolls onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut, his body still, drained, and he lies in the silence like that as Bertholdt licks the last of the blood from his wound, pressing tender kisses to it to close the holes on his neck. 

Moments later, Reiner cracks his eyes open. He blinks up at Bertholdt, watching him with a smile as he traces his fingers across Reiner's golden skin, admiring him. Bertholdt takes one of his hands, weak in his touch, and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

"Look at you," he says softly. 

"Hm?" Reiner murmurs, barely able to keep his eyes open. "What about me?"

"Everything," Bertholdt whispers. He traces one hand down Reiner's chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin, the life beating inside of him, the heat of his blood in his body. He takes it in through his fingers, bruises and all. "You're so beautiful."

"Mm. Am I?"

His gaze flicks back to Reiner's face, the smirk on his lips, and Bertholdt smiles back, humming to himself. "You know you are."

Under the pale moonlight, the tinge of pink in his face is fading, and he shifts on the bed, curling his body up, his bare skin chilling in the cold air. Bertholdt reaches for the blankets at the foot of the bed, and he whispers to Reiner as he drapes them over his body.

"You're getting pale," he murmurs. He pushes a hand back through Reiner's hair. "I'll go downstairs and get you something to eat, and then you should sleep."

"Stay with me," Reiner murmurs. His eyelids flutter. He reaches for Bertholdt, a hand slipping out from under the blankets, and he tugs at Bertholdt's wrist, whispering for him. "Lay down with me."

Bertholdt bends to kiss his hand. "Let me take care of you."

"Lay down with me first," Reiner whispers. He laces their fingers together. "Just for a bit. You can leave when I fall asleep." 

"Alright," Bertholdt says gently. "Just for a bit."

Somewhere else, the party carries on. Another bottle of wine is opened. Champagne is spilled, and the band continues to play in a fever, the ballroom spinning dizzily as dancers swirl through the midnight. Upstairs, where it is quiet, the lovers lie together in bed. Bertholdt curls up beside Reiner, pressing their bodies together beneath the thick cover of blankets; he smiles when Reiner murmurs something in his dream, his breath warm against Bertholdt's chest. He's drawn in by a deep sleep, one that will carry him through to the morning. Bertholdt holds him close, and he lets himself close his eyes too. Just for a moment, they'll stay like that, bound together by blood.


End file.
